Nobody Knows - A Zayn Malik Fanfiction

Chapter Thirteen (Fern)

            Aurora’s POV

            Today’s the day, I think to myself. The day of what, you ask? The day I tell Zayn why I don’t talk to anybody else.

            Stretching my arms out, I thought of Zayn and I. Why did he pick me? Me, out of all the girls out there? He tells me I’m perfect—when really he’s the perfect one. He makes me happy—happier than anyone else could make me.

            I patter out of my room, eyeing my brother’s room. Running over to his door, I turn the doorknob and peer inside. “Hello everybody! Here I am—and I am Dear Miss Love Advice!” I made a weird snort sound, trying to hide my laugh. Have I not explained this already? My brother was ‘Dear Miss Love Advice’ on a radio station. Girls asked—he answered. He had his voice altered, making him sound like a girl.

            I thought it was hilarious.

            Walking into the messy kitchen, with plates stacked high above the cupboards (thanks to my brother’s laziness and Zayn’s urgency to pull me away from my duties), I picked up an old dinner roll, smirking to myself. Walking back to my brother’s open door, and I aim.

Shoot.

            It hits him square in the head—as I snicker and dart from the open door, slamming my  bedroom door in an attempt to run away. “Shit! Sorry about that, girls, my annoying sister just threw what looks like an old dinner roll at me. Attention seeker, much?” He yells into his headset, as I maniacally laugh away on my bed, clutching my stomach.

            I get over my laughing fest and pick up my phone, which has started to blare Both of Us by Taylor Swift ft. B.o.B. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved B.o.B, but I hated his part in the song. It was lame, in my opinion. Taylor Swift deserved some cool, calming guy to sing with—not a rapper past his time.

            I check the caller ID. It’s Zayn.

            “Holla, you iz reached da Aurora Rae Edwardzzzzz REPRESENT—oops I mean residence, what can I help you with broski?” I say in a fake over accentuated American accent. I can hear him burst out laughing with that adorable laugh of his, and I grin to myself.

            “Well hey rapper A, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out today? Me? You? You? Me? You, me, ALL NIGHT.” He starts singing ‘Carry Out’ by Justin Timberlake.

            That’s a whole lotta you and a side of me…

            Oh goodness gracious what am I singing.

            “Um, sure? Where?” I get serious, while humming Carry Out. Damn, it’s stuck in my head now.

            “My house? Your brother’s busy doing his job thing right?” I sigh with relief. I really didn’t want my brother and Zayn running into each other while my brother was in his ‘Dear Miss Love Advice’ mode.

            That would be embarrassing.

            “Okay, love! Be there in twenty.”

….

            I knock on his flat door, ignoring the ambulance sirens wailing down the busy London street, smiling to myself.

            Zayn answers, biting his lip. “What’s wrong, babe?” He asks.

            Do I really look like I’m that guilty?